Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609)

by J. K. Accinni

  Soon, three strapping black men entered the apartment. Scotty, positive they would rob his family, stuck to them like glue. Relieved, he watched them lift Abby in their arms and carry her out of the apartment. He tried to follow.

  “Hey kiddo, you stay here until your mom comes home. Your sister’s very sick. You need to hold down the fort. This nice lady will stay with you.” One of the black men, his eyes soft and moist, ran his hand along Scotty’s shoulder giving him a reassuring stroke, and softly shut the door behind him.

  The nice Muslim lady stayed with him until his mommy came home from work. He hoped Abby didn’t die. Fear made him pray.

  He didn’t know much about what happened after that. His mommy asked him to stay in his room. He heard lots of crying and silences. Then his daddy came home and the screaming started. He didn’t know what it meant, but he felt terror-stricken anyway. He began to relax when the cops took his daddy away. Abby came home a week later, alive but painfully thin. Scotty began to sleep much, much better.

  A few days later, his mother silently handed him a cardboard box, telling him to pack his toys. She folded all their clothes except for Daddy’s, the brace on her afflicted leg clanking around the apartment as she packed up their little lives.

  The night before the move, his mother sat them both down for a talk.

  “Scotty, do you understand we’re moving far away?” She pulled her light-brown hair back in a ponytail, long wisps escaping to frame her thin stressed face, her voice low and tired.

  “Yes, Mommy,” he assured her, not understanding the meaning of far away. But he loved and trusted his mom. He knew every line on her wonderful face. A smile failed to appear as he scrutinized her expression. Somehow, he realized, she needed him to be okay with the move.

  Abby picked him up and sat him on her lap.

  “Honey, you shouldn’t strain yourself like that. The nurse said—”

  “Mom, it’s okay. Let me help.” She rocked Scotty on her lap. Her pretty face lit up, her affection for Scotty giving him confidence as he looked into her eyes, laughing. “You’re our big guy aren’t you, Scotty? It’s going to be you, me and Mom. What a great team. We can do anything, right?”

  “Right.” Shouting and laughing, he looked at his mom. “Right, Mommy?”

  “Right, baby, a great team.” She finally joined in the laughter, her children’s optimism infectious.

  Chapter 2

  The scary move to Sussex County brought about many changes; not the least of which was Scotty never again seeing his only playmate, Germaine. Germaine said he would beg his mom to bring him for a visit, but Germaine didn’t have a daddy to drive him there.

  Luckily, Abby recovered from her sickness. Her physician assistant (she never actually saw a doctor, ever, not in her whole life) determined her kidney would have no lasting damage. Maybe. From now on, they must watch very carefully to make sure Abby got to her dialysis on time. It was critical. Mom told them about the cute little neighborhood not far from their new home that offered a health clinic with the services Abby needed. Relief washed over Scotty. He didn’t want to have to save Abby again. The traumatic event reverberated in his memory, too much for a six-year-old boy.

  Their sad little three-bedroomed ranch in Sussex County looked as lonely and forlorn as Scotty felt. The roof desperately needed repairs. When it rained, they ran around, laughing and bumping into one another with pots in their hands, collecting the drips. When they took showers, the water didn’t stay hot for long; the last one in froze. They learned they must accept the landlord’s response to their complaints. He gave them two choices, suck it up or get out.

  They did their best to make it a home, and Mrs. Preston made sure she kept it spotless and full of love. Scotty screamed with happiness, thrilled to find it included a tiny backyard with his very own tree. The air smelled clean and fragrant. But, best of all, it didn’t have his daddy. His nightmares stopped. Whenever his mother mentioned he could visit his dad, his heart raced with panic. On those occasions, he usually pottied in his bed while he slept. The next day, when his mommy changed his bed, he would tell her all about his nightmare. Her face slipped into such a haggard and defeated bearing that he felt swamped with guilt, convinced his father’s pronouncements about him might come true.

  Sadly, the little boy found no playmates in his hilly little neighborhood. The homes were mostly occupied by black and Spanish families, along with the usual separate enclave of Muslims. The children in the neighborhood took one look at his bald spots and disfiguring scars, and refused to play with him, turning up their noses. They made fun of his wandering eye, calling him cootie head, dick wad, faggot and douche bag. The older boys would jeer at him, enjoying his hurt. The most aggressive pushed him to the ground, kicking dirt and gravel at him to cover his cootie bugs.

  Scotty wandered around and around the neighborhood, looking for someone to play with. His loneliness made him long to grow up quickly. Then he could do anything he wanted, not needing the attention or approval of kids who felt it necessary to call him ass wipe. His memories tasted nasty, festering like an infected wound.

  One day, he found the top of the hill behind his neighborhood. He discovered a curious path that tempted him into the woods. The dead leaves from tall, thick grandfather oaks, dried and crinkled, disintegrated underfoot as he explored. Over time, he learned to entertain himself in the woods, fighting imaginary wars with imaginary magical creatures. The woods became an enchanting place for him. He felt peace. He felt safe. He loved the small clearings drizzled with dappled sunlight, the occasional sighting of little creatures. He never felt lonely but was seduced by the magic of timid rabbits, quarreling squirrels, hyperactive chipmunks and the silent family of deer; all his unwitting playmates, enchanting him with their innocence and acceptance.

  Today he turned seven. He looked forward to the scrumptious cake his mother always baked for his birthday. He knew Abby planned to have a special gift for him from the meager money she earned from the Muslim family she babysat for. He could hardly contain his excitement during the school day, which passed too slowly. He thought he would age another year while he waited. The usual snubs from his classmates mattered not, his mind focused on the happy party waiting for him at home.

  Running up to his now familiar door after the school bus dropped him off, he jerked in surprise, seeing his father’s car in the drive, hearing shouts and angry voices.

  Letting himself in, he trembled at the sight of his father. His heartbeat ratcheted up, thumping hard as his breathing came fast and shallow, his stomach starting a slow roil. He witnessed his father’s arms looped around his mother’s neck as he tried to force her to kiss him. She fought back, trying to slip out of his grip with little success, her balance a hindrance because of her brace.

  His father’s expression hardened: angry and ugly. A sneer deformed his thin lips as he slowly strangled her while Scotty beat on his father’s legs, vainly trying to protect his mother. She screamed, fighting him off until a desperate shove sent her falling back on the kitchen table where Scotty’s birthday cake sat, waiting to have the candles lit for his party. Seven beautiful blue candles on top of rich chocolate icing. His mom caught her balance on the kitchen table, sending his beautiful birthday cake flying.

  Everyone froze as the cake landed upside down, splattering on the hardwood floor. Staring at his ruined birthday cake, Scotty felt his stomach turn inside out, queasiness ready to explode. And a little something new: anger. The kind of anger that festers and simmers beneath the surface, cooking in its own poison while it twists the mind with bitterness. Picking up the remains of the cake, he threw it at his father who just laughed at him, calling him a crybaby and a little turd.

  “I’m not a little turd!”

  Sobbing, he ran out the door, up the hill and into the trees. He just kept running, past all his favorite spots, into the deep woods, his sobs turning to anger, magnified by the resentment of his afflictions.

  Slowing down, he
dropped to the ground, leaning up against a hillside unfamiliar to him. He tried to block the memory of his daddy’s belittling taunting tone, and the damaged look on his mom’s face. Restlessly, he wandered along the hillside until he turned a corner, stepping back in surprise.

  Before him stood a massive granite boulder. He eyeballed the immense rock, wondering how he dare claim it for his own. He noticed handholds seemingly carved into the side of the rock. Hmm, can I pull myself up? Approaching the rock, he struggled with the handholds, finally reaching the top. What a great spot for a fort. Curling up in a depression, he felt the warmth from the sun seep from the rock into his body. His drowsy eyes slowly closed over his tear-stained cheeks and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  *

  The creature roused herself from a deep slumber, feeling the presence of a large life form. She sensed its closeness, but noted it was not yet in the deep quiet cavern of the Hive. She called the Hive home, and her safety had been well assured for over a century. Sadly, she coped with constant loneliness: her only companions the occasional woodland creature that found its way into the cavern. Periodically she would venture out to observe the behavior of the human creatures of this planet, caution an imperative.

  The trauma witnessed over a century ago still smoldered sharply in her mind; the guilt just as fresh. She could have intervened when she became suspicious of her birth Brother’s mental and physical damage during her emergence.

  Or perhaps it had happened during the Womb’s entry into the Earth’s atmosphere. Maybe the Womb had failed to properly care for Brother, although it had certainly cared for her without complaint. She often suspected the Womb had deliberately allowed the incident to escalate just so it could study the outcome. How else could the Womb learn how to interpret the actions of the humans?

  She agreed they merited study, but her sensibilities had cringed as the slaughter had transpired. Most of the time, the Womb took a hands-off policy, not wanting to interfere with the culture of any species, unless the species became catastrophically aggressive to others, of course. But this was a minion, the Womb’s chosen.

  She remembered back a full century to the time she had last laid eyes on the doomed Sister. She had considered making contact without her Brother’s knowledge when the Sister had suddenly appeared one day at the rock that disguised the entrance to the cavern.

  She had watched from her hidden position in the forest as the Sister had first discovered her birth Brother and carried him away from the Hive. She didn’t understand why Brother had not objected. Confusion ruled as she had tried to puzzle out why her birth Brother had neglected to begin his mission. Instead he had involved himself intimately in the Sister’s life, apparently satisfied with the tiny part of his mission that he did manage to accomplish: creating two new Elders to assist him.

  As it had turned out, an evil human Brother stalked the Sister. He had captured her and participated in a brutal murder. She knew how bloodthirsty the evil species behaved on this planet, observing firsthand what had happened to the Sister, her birth Brother, and his own little furry pet from the safety of the hilltop near the forest edge. She remembered with pain her birth Brother’s golden life force splashing on the unyielding ground. She bitterly remembered the look of astonishment then disgust as the evil Brother that had murdered him wiped the sacred life force off the heels of his boots.

  The shock had numbed her as the mesmerizing golden light and vital thought projections had faded from Brother’s disfigured eyes. She had actually felt the genetic mental connection shared by all of her species being brutally severed. Running back through the woods, she had vowed to never leave the Hive until she could assure her own safety.

  It was incomprehensible to believe the bloodthirsty human Brothers would reject the very gifts meant to rescue them and justify the complex energy expended long ago on their behalf. But they had, making the unfortunate choice that had pronounced their death sentence. She wondered if the humans had rejected Sister’s new tail. The humans must realize by now that a tail was nothing new to their species. The success of the mission had demanded complex alterations of their physical and biological systems. It was a good thing that only the tail had manifested, not the antlers. That would have been a disaster.

  Determination coursed through her solar veins. Her job rested on her ability to ensure the Elder’s grand plan, offering salvation for both species, not failure. Success would ensure the redemption from the Womb that minions had sought for hundreds of thousands of years. Perhaps the humans needed a different type of manifestation. She would have to ponder. If she could alter a few of her own cells and enzymes, a solution might be available. Maybe the Womb would help her. But her intention would never include getting rid of her own beautiful tail. The engineering for that would be too complex to attempt without help. She felt comforted by her tail, even as she knew it had a life of its own.

  She curiously wondered why her Brother had not tried to contact her. She would have been willing to complete the mission in his stead. As things stood, now that Brother had expired, her honor (and genetic programming) obligated her to eventually complete the mission for him anyway.

  But she remained hesitant. Over the last century she had observed the savage violence that this species perpetrated on itself. She understood why the Womb had authorized the mission. And, just like the Womb, she now saw little reason to save this species. She suspected the Elders truly had made a tragic mistake. They had offered excuse after excuse for this life form, hoping evolution would tame them. Then, with influence from the Elders no longer a factor, the Womb had passed judgment, ordering the mission. But the possibility existed that her decision might abet an error. She decided to take her time. This planet needed much more observation: direct observation. She hoped the Womb would allow her the time. Maybe if she could just find The One.

  It would truly be a tragedy if she decided to let this species self-destruct, along with Brother’s newly obtained Elder state—now tragically lost. What a surprising discovery that had been. Her species had said goodbye to Elders long ago. In anger at their hubris, the Womb had altered the minions’ ability to become Elders after discovering their fateful mistake, forever preventing healing of humans, but not other life forms. Now, minion expiration came through old age or the birth process. It appeared that, for some reason, Brother’s own genetic instructions, meant to prevent the conversion, had failed. She could not know for sure without a laboratory at her disposal. Her mind, distracted by the biology, pondered the complexity of their enzymes.

  She wondered if she could achieve that lofty state of Elder herself. Had she already? She had easily surpassed her normal life span long ago. She would never know until the first opportunity to heal a Brother or Sister presented itself. Yet she refused to try until she decided that this species deserved it. As of yet, her doubts remained strong.

  She could stay in the Hive as long as it took, but she was in doubt as to the amount of time the Womb would allow her. She wanted to wait until she had received a sign of worthiness. But she was terribly lonely. Her species thrived on close contact. They lived in communal groups—hives. Similar to what were called families here on Earth, only much larger. She had noticed that most of the other species of this planet also lived in families. Of course, she had expected human life on this planet to have evolved similar habits. Sighing, she worried about the damage perpetual isolation would do to her mental state.

  The Hive, under supervision of the Womb, would always take care of all the needs a carbon-based life form required to survive, irrespective of their metabolism. The Womb, being indestructible, easily accomplished all tasks in the pursuit of creating life. But she remained alone, unable to stop the toll her isolation undeniably looked to extract. Surely her own iridescent eyes dimmed? Maybe the time to do something about her dilemma neared.

  The creature planned to take an excursion to the surface sometime soon. She needed to check on the various groups that clustered in the small
buildings on land that had previously grown stunning fruit orchards.

  Her monumental shock when she had witnessed the fruit trees ripped from the earth, destroying a unique gift to the humans, shook her to her core. Gone the orchards that would feed so many, for so long. Within a decade, the miracle seeds from those trees and the crops would have spread naturally all over the world, feeding everyone. The wanton waste was unforgivable. As a result, the Womb angrily intensified its plan for revenge. This species clearly refused to learn. How they had become programmed for self-destruction, she did not know. Perhaps if the Elders had acquiesced differently to the Womb after the discovery of their forbidden experiment, they could have intervened, guiding evolution to a more satisfactory outcome—the very guidance that the Womb had enjoyed exerting everywhere else, feeling no planet too insignificant. But the Womb had forbidden the guidance. The humans were on their own, a punishment they were unaware of.

  The creature disconnected from the Hive wall, her tail dry as it withdrew from the thick membrane. Leaving her private chamber, she shuffled and bobbed her way up the long lonely trail to the outside world.

  Arriving at the end of the underground trail, the creature reached her hand into the cavern wall, asking it to part. When the wall split, she squeezed and contorted her way around the rocks and boulders blocking and disguising the Hive. Glancing back, she made sure the Hive closed behind her.

  She remembered that the blame for the catastrophic events of a century ago belonged partially to her. After her Emergence, she had left her Brother behind in his helpless hibernation state in her zeal to explore topside. If her Emergence had occurred back on Oolaha, surrounded by all the help her Brother had needed to emerge from hibernation and begin transition, his eventual expiration would have been successful. She herself would have received proper guidance, allowing the time for her awareness to digest all the stimuli being transmitted to her mind from her own transcription cells. She would not have run off halfcocked and uninformed, failing to ensure the Hive closed behind her, making the fatal mistake that had allowed the Sister to enter and discover her birth Brother.